


It hurts because it matters

by Miss_Shiva_Adler



Series: Mr. Santiago [2]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Asexual Raphael Santiago, BDSM, BDSM Scene, Dom/sub, Language of Flowers, M/M, Non-Sexual Bondage, Non-Sexual Kink, Personal Responsibility Informed Consensual Kink, Platonic BDSM, Rope Bondage, Sadism, Sadist Raphael Santiago, Shibari, Sub Jace Wayland, aroace Raphael santiago, hanakotoba, rope torture, sadist/masochist, semenawa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:28:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24885364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Shiva_Adler/pseuds/Miss_Shiva_Adler
Summary: What hurts us makes us stronger.Shadowhunters Bingo 2019-2020Square : Shibari
Relationships: Raphael Santiago/Jace Wayland
Series: Mr. Santiago [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2135478
Comments: 5
Kudos: 30
Collections: DL;DR: Shadowhunters Fic, SHBingo





	It hurts because it matters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alxndrlightwoods](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alxndrlightwoods/gifts).



> Thank you to [DarayFlair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarayFlair/pseuds/DarayFlair) who was my beta and sensitivity reader for this <3
> 
> Rune overlays done by [alxndrlightwoods](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alxndrlightwoods/pseuds/alxndrlightwoods)  
> Bondage & Flower art by [Fabio DaMotta](https://twitter.com/damottafabio?lang=en)

* * *

An abandoned room of a warehouse filled with mats and hooks is where Raphael sits down, admiring his work. A firm grip on his wine glass, filled with blood, swirling the liquid to every side before he takes a sip. It's liberating to let his fangs out as he does.

In this room pretenses aren't needed anymore. Masks, glamours, and lies are washed away. There is only the liberation of oneself. Raphael doesn't need to impersonate or assimilate. Nor does he need to make efforts pretending to breathe or to blink. His mind finds a special kind of peace that keeps him afloat and his existence worth living.

He is the most himself when he is like this, embracing his true nature, his unlife. He is free from expectations, free from the burden of his existence, free from mourning the life he once had. He is himself and himself alone, something he could achieve by himself or with the help of another. Even if he prefers the first, he doesn't mind company.

There is beauty in pain.

This is something that he had to come to terms with. It isn't about violent impulses or wrathful anger, but about the beauty of inflicting pain and being welcome to do so. It's about making something radiant and powerful from it. It is about trust. It is about talent. It is about placing knots in places that hurt, It is tying the rope in ways that feel harmonic, it is about placing knots in places that hurt, real and well centered. It is about the ache of it.

It doesn't matter who requests it or where it takes place. Raphael likes it, loves it. He doesn't like or especially love many things, but he loves this. The repetition of the motions, the strain and hurt. It is an exchange, tears for pain, discomfort for soreness, and liberation for indulgence.

From a single leather chair almost in the middle of the abandoned room Raphael observes; for reactions, twitches, for any signal of too much and not enough. No runes are activated for tonight's session, they rarely are. There is a need for rawness and truth. Raphael enjoys it, knows his partner for the night does as well. He takes another sip.

The blood enhances his senses.

He hears, smells, feels more with each sip. His inner Beast latches onto everything that could bring comfort and satisfaction. But this isn't a battle, it isn't a raging war; the need for destruction isn't tearing him apart. Instead he channels it, embraces it. And he feels his fingers absentmindedly stroke the rim of his glass.

It is not about brute force and the hitting of faces and beating of limbs. It is about the fulfillment of a certain desire, not of the sexual kind, but one of giving up control and relishing in it. Something Raphael likes to give and savor. The satisfaction he feels from it reminds him that what he inflicts is a gift of appeasement, a path to atonement. A way to forget your sins and expiate your fears.

Jace Herondale stirs, his head hangs low, his breathing is shallow and slow. He is unable to talk. Raphael has trapped his tongue in between two ropes and the knots on his face dig deep into his cheeks as he moves. Raphael can see, feel, hear the strain of it.

Jace Herondale's pain is a sight to commit to memory.

His blond hair is a mess and out of place, his face is frowned in concentration. His whole body faces downwards. It hurts more this way. But so do the flowers Raphael interweaved with the rope. Thorns are pressing against his delicate skin. His breathing is shallow. Raphael takes another sip.

There is so much calm to the shadowhunter when he is like this. Which is what makes this arrangement possible. Jace knows not to excessively talk or babble. He knows to stay quiet unless being talked to. He knows to only beg when he is allowed to. Jace Herondale is an obedient boy when he wants to be.

The blood traveling through his veins is one of the most delicious smells Raphael has ever smelled. It's rapid, sweet, invigorating, it is always stronger the longer their scene takes. Jace doesn't fear pain, he embraces it, leans into it. He breathes it in and breathes it out. Once he is settled Raphael pushes him, hurts him, and Jace welcomes him every single time, again and again.

So when Jace settles, finding a sort of comfort, Raphael is right there to change his grounding, to increase the strain enough for Jace's mind to go quiet again. Jace's body is lax and Raphael puts down his half finished glass of blood. He takes two long strides. Two wooden sticks are between the fingers of his right hand.

Jace exhales. His eyes are covered by flowers and rope. It doesn't prevent him to see, it just enables him to feel. There is a layer of sweat upon his skin. His runes are a stark contrast against the rope. Raphael likes the sight, likes the duality of it. The delicate flowers were beautiful against the jute rope that currently inspires great agony. There is a temptation to this young Herondale that Raphael cannot place. His smell… his submission... It is about more than the blind obedience that the shadowhunter granted him, more than the knots, it is about the ultimate surrender to Raphael's hands. Jace likes the touch of them and the pain they can inflict.

Raphael lets his nail travel over the twisted downwards suspended body. The shadowhunter doesn't react. Raphael doesn't expect him to. There is a warmth to Jace that he doesn't feel but hears. Once Embraced a vampire loses any thermal sensation within the first week of settling into the new body. Every living creature or person emits a sound. Blood pumps through their veins at all times. With time you learn to ignore it. But Raphael enjoys the hum of it, especially now.

He feels the Beast within growl at it as Jace's pulse calms down and feels more pliant. Raphael doesn't keep the smile from his face. He twirls the sticks that aren't any longer than his fingers before carefully lifting the coconut rope adorning Jace's shins. The shadowhunter struggles, with sharp intake of breath. The pressure _hurts_. Even more when Raphael slides a second one higher, right underneath a knot. Jace _whines._ His blood rushes again, his mind empties itself as the ache and hormones go to his head.

So Raphael slowly puts another stick on the other shin. He crisscrosses them and Jace sobs. It's more a noise than actual tears. Raphael doesn't chuckle but he hums in appreciation before he goes quiet. Jace's crying fills the room. The humanity of it makes Raphael pause and relish. Vampires don't feel pain unless they wish to do so. Nor do they bleed or cry. This is the opposite of him. The shadowhunter gives his emotions as a gift, a beautiful gift. One that Raphael strives, pushes, and created this whole scene for. One that gives Raphael recognition, strength, and power. Becoming Jace Herondale's whole wide world is an exaltation and permission that puts his inner mind at rest. Jace's whole body and pain is merely the catalyst for it.

There are 5 sticks in total trapped between skin and rope when Raphael takes a step back.

He likes what he sees, admires it, appreciates it. It takes a minute or two for Jace to stop struggling. The surrender just adds to the beauty of it. It's… stunning. However long or deep or harsh Raphael pushes, Jace accepts. He accepts it all. The calm he radiates makes this living canvas an evermore remembered piece of art. There is tension, trust; a humanity to it.

Raphael likes beauty, likes the colors, likes the layer they both add to this connection they have. Flowers are part of it, always are. It reflects him in ways that nobody would understand. He speaks through them, speaks to Jace through them. It is art as much as it is a language. He is proud of his work, proud of what he tells and sees. It's a story of which he isn't even sure Jace understands how much it means to him. The roses shine through the more symbolic hatred and revenge from the lilies. The truth is the biggest one, the Chrysanthemum, its white contrasts the pink of brave peonies. But even if small, roses are the ones who catch the most attention. Silence and devotion, both virtues which have helped him through time and his unlife, making him the man he is today. Both virtues that in counterpart make Jace Herondale work through what he needs.

And it's beautiful, so beautiful.

Raphael could stare for hours and lose himself within his newfound inner peace. Jace breathes. His tortured lips are half hidden by the floral arrangement that constitutes his blindfold and headdress. He breathes in and breathes out. His muscles are taut and tense. Raphael doesn't add anything more. Everything is perfect the way he wanted it to be. Even Jace feels it. Raphael takes in the smell, the sweat, the flowers, closes his eyes to feel and see what beautiful art he made.

'Tick', the first ticking of Jace's clicker goes off.

'Tick', Raphael smiles.

'Tick', he walks over to Jace.

And kneels.

He lets his finger trace the skin one last time. Feels and smells Jace's heartbeat, enraptured in what they have created. He lays his forehead against the shadowhunter. Everything spills from his mouth in two single clear and loud words:

"Thank you."

Jace cries.

Jace cries from this moment to the other as Raphael plucks away every flower, unties every knot. It happens slowly. Slow enough for Jace to come back from his headspace, enough to let most of the tears die down.

There are sighs crossing his chapped and dried out lips as Raphael leaves burning rope marks behind. He regrets them being gone, misses their restraint. But knows this won't be the last time he feels and embraces them again. His head is focused and good. He rests his head against the vampire's chest, nuzzles Raphael's throat.

His cologne is stronger than he remembers.

It is nice to be rocked to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're over 18 and wanna hang out with other people who love Shadowhunters (I'm there too) come check out the [Hunter's Moon](https://discord.gg/RhZPtsd)


End file.
